


your lips, they got me going

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, F/F, Fluff, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-29
Updated: 2015-04-29
Packaged: 2018-03-26 08:19:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3843793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Allison frowns. “I don’t pine. Stiles pines. You pined for Boyd. I don’t pine.”</p>
<p>Erica’s expression is almost pitying.</p>
<p>(or the one where allison is a broke college student working part-time as a barista and lydia inexplicably keeps on coming back to her coffee shop)</p>
            </blockquote>





	your lips, they got me going

**Author's Note:**

> written for the allydiareversebang!!
> 
> beta'ed by the great and glorious [vi](http://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Violent_Buizel/)  
> i've got a lot of thanks to give out for actually finishing this, but you guys know who you are :')
> 
> so many thanks to my fab [artist](http://annaharvelle.co.vu/), for without their art, would never have been inspired enough to finish this fic (their art is included down below)
> 
> minor/implied pairings are stiles/derek, erica/boyd and past allison/scott/isaac  
> title taken from lips by marian hill  
> not as much pining as the summary suggests

Allison is trying to get the perfect amount of sugar into the muffin batter that she totally does not intend on taking home when her shift ends. A few wisps of hair are escaping from her bun and she tries to use the back of her hand to push them out of her face, and only succeeds in messing it up more. She lets out a noisy sigh pout thing, consoling herself with the fact that nobody will have to see her like this seeing as her co-worker, Stiles, is in charge of manning the counter on Wednesdays. 

The thing is, no matter how great her muffins are, there is absolutely no chance that they’ll sell out. The coffee shop she works at is just a little too dodge. To be completely honest, it looks like the nightclub from across the street on the outside just a little too much to be comfortable (circa Stiles 2014, right before he was threatened with being fired by their resident “sour-wolf”). The fact that half of the clientele of that particular nightclub tends to emigrate over to their “hip” coffee shop after belatedly realizing that their “last drink” was one too many and in desperate need of coffee really doesn’t help their image. Allison spends a lot of those shifts trying not to tell them that coffee doesn’t help with hangovers, as she has a living to maintain. She’s just thankful that they don’t share a uniform code with the nightclub, considering their owner’s love affair with leather jackets. He either never washes them, or just have a wardrobe full of them – there is a running bet in the workplace and Allison intends to earn some cold, hard cash – a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. She’s pretty sure Erica wouldn’t mind, what with her killer-leather fetish she has going on. Allison would be lying if she said it didn’t turn her on a little. She’s a bit too gay (bi?) for that, unfortunately.

“Heyhey, Allison, most fair and fabu-” Stiles, strings together quickly, having snuck up on her.

“The counter is unmanned,” she says pleasantly.

He wilts. “Are you sure-“

“I’m not going to cover your shift next week, Stiles,” Allison replies promptly. “I would say sorry, but.”

“Aww,” Stiles whines and puppy-dogs (or rather, screws his face up in some weird appropriation of the technique) and steals a cookie from the batch that she had just finished. “Compensation,” he says through mouth of crumbs.

“Hey! Those are for our, er, select clientele,” Allison admonishes with no heat. If anything, she’s not a hypocrite – too cool for that okay.

Turns out she opened her mouth at the right time though because-

“Select clientele,” deep baritones sound behind them, and Stiles flinches, choking on his spoils. (A truly perfect image. If Erica was here, she would not stop needling stiles about that, but luckily for him, she's off doing something possibly illegal in her leather-getup. They’re missing one of their regulars because of this – Boyd is ever loyal even though Allison can see him grimacing every time he tries to down a cup of whatever sweet concoction Erica brews up for him.)

Stiles really seems to have the worst timing. Nobody, in fact, cares about the merchandise, but Derek Hale likes to pretend to. Especially when it comes to Stiles. (There is also a running bet about that – Erica likes to call it “unresolved sexual tension” while Allison firmly believes, well, in whatever side Erica isn’t on.)

Stiles retreats to the front of the store to mourn his fragile ego (Allison does not pretend to be unamused, she is not an uh “good” person). Derek takes advantage of this by also stealing a cookie. Allison stares at him, supremely unimpressed, even as she fights smile. He shrugs unrepentantly. 

“Ish good,” he says, also through a mouthful of crumbs. Ah. Cute, but gross.

///

Allison used to be an uh “good” person, but she’s trained herself out of it now. The cut-throat world of college textbooks and a subsistence living has conditioned her well. Like. Who needs vitamins and vegetables when instant ramen cost a fraction of the price?

The thing is, Allison doesn’t need to live the life of a broke college kid. There was a big blow up between her and her mum over the family business. She had stubbornly chose to prove that she could do what she enjoyed because she’s a “young independent woman”.

So here she is, in this dingy, dodgy-looking coffeeshop that nearly transcends hipster with less than subpar coffee, trying to do something with her photography degree which is still a work-in-progress. She needs this job, especially considering that Derek is a completely too generous with wages for a ‘niche’ café – complete with chalk-board menus and mismatching furniture – and does not in fact seem too concerned with making sales. Their coffeeshop is just plain bad, but nobody’s telling Derek Hale that.

///

It is approximately 1am on a Friday night the first time Hot, Terrifyingly Competent-Looking Redhead comes into their coffeeshop with her equally hot friend, gay stereotype brunet. 

They’re both covered in glitter and seem to have migrated from the nightclub from over the street and Allison dies a little at how close-cut Redhead’s top is. She’s in the middle of packing away the contents of the baked goods display, absolutely ready to go home and make sweet love to her bed two hours ago. Instead, she gets the dubious amusement of watching Stiles spill scalding hot coffee over his hand, seemingly incapable of functioning in the presence of two intimidatingly hot people. 

Allison sighs, trying to not to smirk and walks over to put him out of his mercy as he stammers out apologies. 

The redhead looks slightly concerned but also slightly irritated. God bless his sweet soul, but Allison’s ex, Scott, had a perpetual aura of confusion in him, vaguely reminiscent of a puppy. Hot, Terrifyingly Competent-Looking Redhead looks like she would be able to chew Scott up and spit him out without smudging a bit of her makeup and Allison is already in love. 

“Hey, you alright?” Allison addresses Stiles, already reaching for the icepacks underneath the counter for precisely these scenarios and passes one to him.

He looks up gratefully, nursing his injured hand. “Hot coffee. Hand. Not okay,” he says. 

“Don’t sass me when I’m trying to help,” Allison says.

Stiles rolls his eyes and bumps shoulders with her. “I’ll be fine.”

“If you’re sure,” Allison says dubiously and turns towards the redhead and her friend, who have been viewing the proceedings with, respectively, raised brows and utter concern.

“What were your orders?” she asks, professional smile fixed to her face as she tries not to obviously check the redhead out.

Exchanging a glance with the redhead, the guy says “Two short blacks, straight up, thanks.”

Allison nods and efficiently fills out their order, feeling super self-aware. Two splashes of hot coffee lands on her hand when she’s pouring them into their take-away cups and she valiantly pretends it didn’t happen.

“Are you okay?” Redhead asks, ruining Allison’s ruse, and Allison smiles weakly.

“I’m fine,” Allison says. She is not fine. She can hear Stiles trying to muffle sniggers and she swears to use him for live archery practice in exchange for covering a shift one day.

Redhead eyes her up and down before smirking. “Okay.” Allison absolutely does not flush.

“Danny, let’s go,” Redhead says to her friend who is busy screwing up his face and scalding his tongue on his coffee.

The words “Isn’t being drunk supposed to make things taste better?” drift back to the counter from Danny as they sashay out and wow hips really don’t lie Allison is dying a little. Allison immediately hops up onto the counter to sink her face into her hands. “I can’t believe I screwed up right after you screwed up. What has the world come too,” she bemoans.

“You can’t believe that?” Stiles says, affronted, handing her an ice-pack. “Look at this ignoble war scar.” He brandishes his reddened hand like a weapon.

“There, there,” Allison says, infusing as much pity as she can into her voice.

Stiles mock glares at her. 

“Well, at least, they’re probably never going to come back again after trying our coffee,” Allison says, consolingly, partly to herself as well.

Allison is so wrong.

///

Redhead returns the next morning, obviously sporting a hangover, but hiding it under her impeccable makeup and Allison is impressed, not doing that much better herself, considering how little sleep she got. Redhead’s hair is annoyingly perfect in comparison to Allison’s quickly done up bun. 

She ended up covering for Stiles anyway and simultaneously wants to hide her face and lord over Stiles that she got another glimpse of Hot, Terrifyingly Competent-Looking Redhead.

A minute later, Allison feels her heart sink because Redhead seems to have a Blonde, Jock, Douche Boyfriend (because who wears sunglasses indoors?), complete with cleft chin. 

Allison might plunk their coffees down with a bit too much aggressiveness, but she’s busy mourning her slightly broken heart so there’s that and tries to avoid looking directly at them. She doesn’t do good enough of a job as the redhead looks up from a stack of textbooks she’s bent over with her boyfriend.

“Oh, it’s you again. Is your hand alright?” the redhead tilts up at Allison, her hand reaching out for Allison’s.

“You’re touching my hand,” Allison says, dumbly.

“Oh, sorry,” Redhead says, pulling away reflexively.

“Oh, no, um, it’s okay!” Allison stammers out, bemoaning her stupidity inside. Actual physical contact, oh my god.

Redhead smirks, “Okay,” reminiscent of last night and Allison is not okay and cites excuses and speedily responds to her post at the counter where there is literally no one waiting to order. She can feel Redhead’s eyes on her and she resists the urge to look over, busying herself with rearranging the bake display, her empire of muffins slowly but surely expanding.

Allison feels kinda horrible, for flirting when Redhead is clearly on a date with her boyfriend and wallows in shame for a few seconds. She eyes one of her muffins trapped inside of the glass sadly. Stress-eating sounds suitable at this point. 

Did that even count as flirting? She has no game, and usually smiles a lot and hopes her dimples get the message across – it seemed to work well enough on Scott, but that might have been because he used the same technique.

Mostly, she’s just glad that Kira, their other baked-goods chef is coming in late due to a kendo tournament so she isn’t there to witness her mooning over a customer, and then pass on the knowledge to Erica, thus spreading the knowledge to all of their staff and regulars – Allison still does not understand how they have regulars, but ok.

///

The thing that neither Stiles nor Allison understand is that Hot, Terrifyingly Competent-Looking Redhead keeps on coming back. Although, usually accompanied with Blonde, Jock, Douche Boyfriend and or even occasionally Danny, so Stiles and Allison get to bond over the unattainability of their crush and cry a little. 

///

"On the house," Allison grins. "I’ve always wanted to say that"

Hot, Terrifyingly Competent-Looking Redhead looks up gratefully from the stack of books she has by her side.

"I might be dying a little, don't tell anybody else," she admits, grabbing the coffee from Allison's hands with the fervour of, someone who is in severe need of caffeine. "Hey," she says and brushes her hand again Allison's. "Thanks."

Allison absolutely refuses to acknowledge the thrill going through her from the point of contact. "No problem," she responds, easily, she hopes.

She is not blushing when she gets back to the counter, okay Stiles?

///

"Please stick to monogamous crushes, Stiles," Allison says, drunk off her ass in the nightclub across the street from their hipster cafe (business rivals, but not really – there isn’t enough to compete with). 

Derek wouldn’t be very impressed nonetheless. Erica seems to have a love-hate relationship with this particular nightclub – pro being leather and con because she and the bartender, Malia, seem to have an intense rivalry involving their respective jobs. Allison has never felt sorrier for Boyd.

"Lol no, you know I can’t help myself," Stiles replies somewhat mournfully. “Hot people are just…so…hot,” he says, flailing a little, seemingly incapable of expressing himself well enough with just words. He almost falls off his bar stool. 

The saddest thing is that Allison totally feels him. She tries to continue in vain, "I mean, you already have Derek." 

Stiles snorts unattractively. "Have, you say. He’s just like… one of many unattainable hot people. Like- like, what’s her name-”

“Hot, Terrifyingly Competent-Looking Redhead,” Allison supplies helpfully.

“Hot, Terrifyingly Competent-Looking Redhead. Wow. I didn’t slur that. I’m so good,” Stiles pauses to pat himself on the back.

Allison rolls her eyes. 

“And Isaac maybe? His cheekbones make me swoon,” he tells her before turning around to face her properly, swaying slightly but the picture of severity. Well, as much as you can be severe when you’re flushed with alcohol. “But-“

Allison leans in closer, “What?”

“He’s trying to steal Scott away from me so- I would fight Isaac," he says, breaking eye-contact to glare at the stained, lacquered grains of the counter as if they represent Isaac. If Allison looks closely, she can make out sharp angles that are vaguely reminiscent of his cheekbones.

“What was going on between you, Scott and Isaac anyway?” Stiles asks.

Allison grimaces a little as she spends valuable seconds of her life experiencing flashbacks to that period in her life when she, Scott and Isaac had discovered the wonders of polyamory.

She glares at the Isaac grain too. “I don’t know, but I wish I had that magic again, especially on Hot, Competent Red Head."

“Saaaame,” Stiles groans.

“Hot, Terrifyingly Competent-Looking Redhead looks like she would step all over me," Stiles moans into the depths of his drink.

Allison feels kind of depraved. "Hate to agree with you," she groans. “Can I just seduce her away from Blonde, Jock, Douche Boyfriend?”

"I would fight him too,” Stiles says decisively. 

“I’ll help you hide the body,” Allison agrees.

“I said fight.”

“I’ll help you hide the body,” Allison says again.

“Fight-”

“I’ll help you-“

“Fine! Fine okay, okay. Thank you for hypothetically hiding his body,” Stiles mutters.

Allison grins. “What are friends for?” she asks proudly. “I’ve wanted to say that for like, ever since I saw it on tumblr.”

Stiles rolls his eyes so hard, Allison’s afraid he might faint. “You run an aesthetic blog.”

“Photography,” Allison says.

“Yeah, uh sure,” Stiles says. “Coughhipstercough.”

“Wow, Stiles. You’re really hurting my feelings,” Allison mock gasped. “But seriously, that was bad, even for you.”

“’Even for you’. I’m a sensitive person, Allison,” he pouts.

“Yeah, uh sure,” Allison says. "Also not entirely relevant? But I think. I think we need to go home." 

Allison spends a few moments contemplating the condensation on her empty glass. A rivulet of water flows down the side. Ah, metaphors, she thinks dreamily. She’s certain that there’s an analogy for her life in there somewhere.

She smirks. "Think we could drop by the coffee shop and annoy Derek?”

///

The door rings as they go in. Allison runs right into Stiles in the doorway of the coffee shop, and he sways dangerously. “What’s wrong?” she asks, subtly herding him further inside, to avoid aggravating the bell hanging above the door.

“Oh my God,” Stiles says, entirely too malleable to her hands.

“Um,” Allison says, manoeuvring him out of the way to see into the warm lighting of the coffee shop, and immediately ducks back behind him. “Oh my God,” she repeats.

Hot, Terrifyingly Competent-Looking Redhead is currently sitting inside the café, in one of the corner booths with Blonde, Jock, Douche Boyfriend, and looks particularly murderous as she stares at a textbook.

“I think we should just go home. We’re not gonna seduce her with our drunk breath,” Allison grimaces. She’s not going to admit it, but she’s kind of entranced by the way the coffee shop’s dim lighting makes Hot, Terrifyingly Competent-Looking Redhead’s wreath of hair look like the embers of a fire and wow okay, she’s a bit too drunk.

“Yeah,” Stiles says, before he spots Blonde, Jock, Douche Boyfriend. “Actually, wait, I need to fight blonde jock douchebag” he glares. “Do my duty to the world - I mean who wears sunglasses indoors? At night? At- what time is it?”

Allison shrugs, leaning against the doorway, a bit entranced but also a little dizzy.

“What are you guys doing?” 

Allison and Stiles jump guiltily, to find Erica standing in front of them, eyebrows raised. She’s got an apron tied around her waist, and hair held back precariously with a headband.

“You’re blocking the doorway,” she says.

“Right,” Allison says and hovers indecisively, shooting Hot, Terrifyingly Competent-Looking Redhead what she hopes is a discreet look.

Erica grins a shark-grin.

Oh, no Allison thinks. Not discreet enough, it seemed.

Stiles whimpers beside her. “Derek’s not in?”

Erica continues grinning. “Just me tonight, lover-boy. Now get in or get out.”

They remain undecided.

Erica rolls her eyes. “As employees of this coffee shop, you should realize that shitty coffee is on the house.”

They sidle in. Erica leads them up to the counter, where she proceeds to work magic with the coffee machine and Allison tries to not stare too long at the corner Hot, Terrifyingly Competent-Looking Redhead is occupying. Stiles seems to have no such compunctions and is glaring at Blonde, Jock, Douche Boyfriend.

“So what’s up with redhead in the corner there?”

Allison jolts, leaning against the counter and tries to smile. “Nothing.” She tries to get her dimples to tell Erica to stop.

Erica’s face looks unimpressed. “Coffee,” she says, plunking down two cups and Stiles and Allison take them gratefully. 

“O, coffee goddess, ye of tight leather and the reddest of lipstick,” Stiles hails and Allison half-heartedly nods her head reverently, as she practically inhales the coffee.

“Coffee goddess,” a voice says by Allison’s ear and she almost chokes.

Hot, Terrifyingly Competent-Looking Redhead is by her elbow. Within contact. Allison might be swooning a little. Stiles is quite obviously trying to hold words back, and Allison isn’t much better herself.

“Hi? You were in the corner. Definitely not here. In front of me. What are you doing here?” Allison frowns at her words and the whole situation. 

Hot, Terrifyingly Competent-Looking Redhead quirks an eyebrow. There is a slight twist to her lips and wow lips. They’re really nice lips, Allison thinks.

“Hi,” the redhead says slowly. “I’m here for,” she hesitates. “I was going to say coffee, but I’m not sure if the stuff here really counts.”

Allison smiles involuntarily. “For the company then?” she says, leaning in, making sure dimples are happening.

Stiles makes a few strained noises.

Hot, Terrifyingly Competent-Looking Redhead is about to reply before-

“Hey, how long does it take to order coffee?” interrupts Blonde, Jock, Douche Boyfriend and Allison’s heart jumps guiltily.

Stile’s strained noises grow significantly more aggressive and Allison’s smile turns slightly strained as she turns to grab him by his elbow. “Right, yes, we better get going now, nice to see you!” she says in a rush, walking very quickly away from the bemused redhead and a predatorily smirking Erica.

The door rings as they move out, the night air cool against Allison’s flushed cheeks.

“Hey, what was that for?” Stiles grumbles. “I was totally about to punch him in the face.”

Allison pats him on the shoulder automatically, even as she stews in guilt. “Just punch him metaphorically.”

There’s no chance she’s going to be able seduce Hot, Terrifyingly Competent-Looking Redhead away from Blonde, Jock, Douche Boyfriend if she’s going to feel horrible about even smiling at her.

///

"Seems like somebody has a crush!" Erica sing songs and Allison jumps, almost knocking over the cup of coffee she's been trying to give coffee art. She does archery, her fingers are supposed to be good at this. The coffee is not sympathetic.

“Haha, what?” Allison tries weakly.

 

“I was merciful on you yesterday because of your hangover, but you can’t escape me forever,” Erica says.

Allison’s smile turns into a pout. “Why don’t you go pick on Stiles instead? He has so many crushes to choose from.”

“Yeah, but we’re not talking about Stiles, Allison, we’re talking about you,” Erica smiles, lifting herself up onto the counter. Allison would tell her off, but there’s no one in the coffee shop and she doesn’t really care, too caught up in her current dilemma with Hot, Terrifyingly Competent-Looking Redhead.

“Look, okay, she’s got a boyfriend,” she says.

Erica hisses in-between her teeth, expression sympathetic. “That explains all the angst and pining that emanates from you.”

Allison frowns. “I don’t pine. Stiles pines. You pined for Boyd. I don’t pine.”

Erica’s expression is almost pitying.

“Shut up, Erica, and wow look isn’t that Boyd right there,” Allison retorts, almost desperate. And stop being so judging, Boyd, she thinks. (“It's his resting bitch face,” circa Erica 2014.)

Erica is unimpressed, but willingly flounces over to the doorway to where Boyd has indeed entered, ready for his daily caffeine fix. Allison worries for him sometimes.

///

Autumn is Allison's favourite season by far. Her aesthetic is boots and short skirts all the way ("Not a hipster, Stiles"), and she takes an embarrassing number of shots of leaves falling from trees. Plus, Hot, Terrifyingly Competent-Looking Redhead tends to wear a lot of short skirts and her thighs kind of make Allison want to swoon.

Allison heads out of the coffee shop through the employee’s door, a box of complementary brownies tucked neatly inside of her backpack, warm against her back and the day is good. Kira's brownies are killer, and she has plans involving her bed, hot chocolate and those brownies.  
Except-

“Hi,” Hot Terrifyingly Competent-Looking Redhead smiles, and leaning against a wall. Her head is covered in a soft looking beret and Allison can’t decide between whether she wants to comb through her hands through the red hair or pinch the fabric between her fingers.

Allison considers going back inside, but inside lies the pining and angst apparently also emanating from Stiles, and also, Erica. So, no.

“So,” her alleyway neighbour says decisively.

“Yes,” Allison responds. “What? Why are you…?”

Hot, Terrifyingly Competent-Looking Redhead shrugs before smirking. “Erica, was it? Erica sent me out here. Said I would be able to stage a meet-cute.”

Allison takes back any kind thoughts she may have ever had of her manipulative co-worker and opens and closes her mouth.

“So,” the redhead says again, moving closer to Allison. “Was she right?”

“What?” Allison asks.

“Stage a meet-cute?” 

“Oh, um. Yeah?” Allison wants to kick herself.

Hot, Terrifyingly Competent-Looking Redhead smiles.

"You seem to have a thing for my hands," Allison remarks, lips tugging at the edges, as the redhead tangles their fingers together.

"You have calluses?" she inquires, looking intently down at Allison’s hands.

"Archery." 

"Ahh," the redhead says and strokes her thumb softly along Allison's calluses and Allison forgets how to breathe for a few seconds.

The redhead clearly notices from the way her lips quirk, and doesn’t stop as she speaks. "So I feel like we should get a few things clear. Pining really doesn't suit you, even as cute as it looks on you."

Allison busies herself with trying to regain higher brain functions. "Yeah?"

"I think introductions are in order. I don’t even know your name, Cute, Clumsy-but-graceful Coffee Shop Brunette," she says, finally looking up to meet Allison’s eyes, almost challengingly.

"Ohuhallison, Hot, Terrifyingly Competent-Looking Redhead," she breathes out in a rush.

"Right, Allison," she drawls out Allison's name, looking at her through heavy-lidded eyes. "I’m Lydia, and I like you quite a lot."

Allison frowns a little. "But – Blonde, Jock, Douche Boyfriend?"

"Jackson?" Lydia seems amused.

"Wait. You guys are – aren’t you dating?”

Lydia pauses in her torture of Allison's hands (thank God, because as much as that felt great and all, she kind of wants to save this experience for when they're actually in bed together and she is prepared to return the favour).

"...Jackson isn’t my boyfriend, thank God,' Lydia frowns, smirking slightly and moves in closer.

"Oh," Allison says very eloquently. Does that mean all her pining has been for nothing?

Lydia searches her eyes carefully before reaching out for Allison's cheek. Her hands are cool against Allison’s cheeks, flushed hot with blood as they are.

"I'm going to kiss you now, okay?"

Allison is still stuck at ‘Jackson isn’t my boyfriend’ and stutters out “Okay?”

Despite the fact that they’re standing in an alleyway, and the muted din of traffic is prevalent, it's rather amazing. It takes a few seconds for Allison to kick into gear, trying to get past red, plump lips mouthing at her own. She closes her eyes and allows her hands to finally reach into Lydia’s mane of red hair, as Lydia presses herself closer up against her, and oh wow Allison thinks she might be dying. 

"Oh," Allison says again, breathy, when they finally separate.

"Yeah," Lydia agrees, also seemingly out of breath, "Oh."


End file.
